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by EloraCooper4
Summary: After Angel's funeral, Collins visits her family to tell them the news.


Note: Last year I read an article about Latinos in Miami. And how their lives were surrounded by AIDS because of their lack of acceptance. Always thought it made perfect sense. If your interested in the article let me know and I'll send you the info. This is kinda a connected fic with "Preparation." But you don't have to read it to understand this.

He knocked politely on the door while looking at his reflection in the glass. Bags under his eyes, lids all puffy and raw. He had to wonder if they would even speak to him before turning him away. Looking the way he did. Glancing over his shoulder he scanned the neighborhood. It was not the Miami that he had saw on television. The speed boats on the bay. The men toasting to each other with one arm around the waist of a scantily clad woman in a bright pink bikini. It wasn't anything like that. The road was broken. Severed in places as if there was an earthquake that had gone unnoticed. The tiny houses were loosing their color. The paint was peeling off in tiny chunks. Children were playing in the street. Sweat hanging off their bodies in the November heat. The children were playing cops and robbers. The lightest skin Latino boys took the part of the cops. They would shoot the others with their extended pointer fingers. The girls would fall to the pavement and cry out, "You fag!" to the lighter skin boys. Yeah, Collins understood why Angel had to move out of here.

The door opened and shot of pain rushed to his gut. She had always told him that she looked nothing like her family. That if he saw them he would walk on by without any notice. But she was wrong. The woman standing in front of him, a cigarette in hand and fuzzy blue slippers on was Angel. Only a few years older and worn.

"What do you want?" The woman asked looking over Collins with a suspicious eye especially at his leather coat. They never exchanged rings, and he always regretted that they didn't. That coat was as close as he got. His sign of eternal love. He didn't care if the heat was unbearable as it was. The coat stayed on.

Collins cleared his throat, "Is this the…Schunard residence?" He asked even though he knew the answer.

"It is. But, baby, I wouldn't use the word residence. Hovel, maybe. That might be better," The woman smirked to herself and took a long drag from her cigarette. Then she moved her eyes back up to Collins. "Aren't you hot in that?"

"Yeah." Collins said quietly with a small shrug. "I umm…I'm here about…Angel."

The woman's eyes went wide and she shook her head starting to shut the door. "He ain't here anymore so if he owes you money or something I can't-"

"Oh no...I'm…here to tell you…he…wanted me to come down here. And talk to you," Collins explained quickly while leaning his way in the door. There was no way he was going to turn back after all of the miles he traveled. And more importantly, he would never betray Angel's wishes.

She opened the door slowly and whispered. "What do you need to tell us?"

"Celia!" A voice called from inside. Collins' heart flipped recognizing the accent that Angel fell into whenever she spoke Spanish. "Celia, who's at the door?"

"A man, Mama…says he has a message from Angel!" The woman, apparently Celia replied looking sheepishly back at Collins as if she was embarrassed. With a flinch she dropped her cigarette and stamped it out.

A new woman appeared at the door an older and stronger version of Celia. She wrinkled her nose at Collins. "What did he do now?"

Collins was taken aback and struggled to say, "Nothing…she…" He shook his head. "He…he…wanted me to come down and see you." It was then that he caught Celia staring at him. Looking at his eyes like she knew them from somewhere.

"Let him in Mama…he could use a drink." Celia opened the door for him without her mother's approval. "And take off that coat your making me sweat just by looking at you." Mrs. Schunard pushed up her nose but didn't argue. With a deep breath Collins stepped inside the house where Angel grew up. It was just like she said it was. The mental picture he created was almost perfect. There was a set of stairs crammed in a few inches from the doorway. Looking up he saw that it lead to two rooms which where covered by sheets instead of doors. The wallpaper was a stark contrast of orange and green making Collins wince. There was a smell in the air of blood, piss, and sweat. It was just as Angel described.

"Come on…what's your name?" Celia asked leading Collins to the kitchen. The room was covered in pale green tiles, most of them lopsided or broken into sections. The table where Angel's mother and sister sat was rickety, a phone book was supporting one of the legs.

Collins pulled himself from his observance and said, "Tom…Tom Collins." He carefully lowered himself onto a chair.

"Would you like some lemonade Tom?" Celia leaned over to grasp the pitcher on the kitchenette counter when he mother slapped her hand.

"Your father is coming home soon," She snapped pulling her hand back slowly. Then she took hold of a paper fan. After a moment of studying it, Collins realized it was a phone bill. Apparently it was never paid.

Celia sighed and looked back at Collins. "I'm sorry…my father prefers lemonade when he returns from work."

Collins shook his head. "No…no it's fine. I don't mind at all. Not really thirsty." It was in that moment that Collins realized he hadn't eaten in days. Or drank anything. Not since the day of the funeral. When he went to drink with Benny, Mimi, and Mark…that was the last time. And yet his stomach never growled and his throat was never dry.

"So…what does Angel…what about him?" Celia asked sounding like she was trying to maintain some sort of polite manner.

Collins sat up in his chair and took a deep breath. "He umm…wanted me to contact you."

"I can't understand why," Angel's mother scoffed as she continued to fan her wrinkled face. "He doesn't speak a word to us in years. How many…seven? How can a son completely forget his mother? He has no idea what we have been through."

Collins bit his lip honing in all of his emotions. He couldn't talk back. Couldn't say that Angel went through something that they wouldn't understand. That his death wasn't easy, it was long, painful, and ugly. That was something that they couldn't understand.

"Mama…" Celia whispered, "You know…Miami wasn't his place. He didn't belong here…and he belonged in New York, right?" She asked Collins looking somewhat hopeful.

"He did," Collins said then quietly adding to himself, he belonged with me.

Angel's mother waved off their comments. "I don't care where he lived. He could have dropped a message or something. Let us know he was still breathing."

Collins winced and looked away quickly. He felt like someone had punched him across the face. Celia caught his reaction and her jaw dropped. "Tom…what was the message? What did he want to say?"

"He…he passed away a few days ago," Collins whispered looking down at his hands. All of his energy was concentrating on not crying. He would have thought that his tear ducts would be experiencing a drought by now. There wasn't a day that he hadn't cried in months. But there always seemed to be a few left to shed.

"He what?" Angel's mother asked her face skewed in confusion. She actually didn't hear him.

"He passed away…Mrs. Schunard," Collins repeated his heart tightening in his chest.

Celia put her hand to her mouth stifling whimpers that were escaping her mouth. Angel's mother frowned deeper and nodded. "I knew he would move on before any of us. Had that quality," The old woman replied suddenly solemn. She pulled herself from the table and walked away unsteadily. "Gonna pray for him."

Collins watched her until she disappeared into a side room. Would Angel have walked like that if she reached old age? What would their relationship be like so many years later? Would their love make it through? It only took a moment of contemplation for Collins to say to himself that they would have made it. In love…after all those years. There was a pang in his stomach the past few days, it was the pain of knowing that they could have had so many more years of love.

Celia found herself a napkin and blew her nose it in quietly as if she was worried about disturbing Collins' thoughts. She crumpled up the napkin and dropped it in her lap. Then she whispered, "You loved him didn't you? I saw it in your face…I still can. I'm happy my brother found love in New York…God knows he would never find it in Miami."

"Yeah…I still do," Collins answered watching Angel's sister carefully and trying to remember a mention of her. But he couldn't recall anything. Angel was part secretive and part talkative about her past. The house and environment she could talk about. The general stuff, the images that she remembered. The other stuff though…the people and the events. Those were what Angel kept from Collins. Her lover never felt betrayed by the silence…he knew that it must have hurt her. And he wasn't willing to hurt Angel in order to know more about her. It was a pity though…Ceila seemed like a nice person.

"I'm glad then…that he knew love with you. He…did he tell you about his life here?" Celia asked raising her head to meet Collins' eyes.

Collins slowly shook his head. "Not much…generally. I think it was too painful."

Celia smiled bitterly squeezing the napkin in her hand. "It was…still is. Men here…are hard. Their lives are ruled by a different code than anywhere else. The machismo. The need to be a man. You aren't considered a worthy unless you get into fights regularly and screw around with a different woman every night. Our Angel…we knew…it was hard not to tell."

"It was easy to see," Collins murmured in agreement remembering when he first saw her. Maybe it was the fact that her first words to him involved the word honey or the fact that Collins was so utterly attracted to her. Either way, it wasn't hard for most people to tell.

Angel's sister nodded. "America is unforgiving…but Miami…is hell. There are few men here who are out. Who admit that they are gay. It's a disgrace. Our priest will not give them communion. Angel stopped getting his when he was thirteen," Celia licked her lips and wiped a few more tears with the same napkin, "You have a choice. Either…get married and screw on the side. Or be out. Angel wasn't one to hide…there was no way he could. But those who are out…they have their own way as well. Be persecuted and never loved…or be loved and used. Angel was always dying for love. So he looked for it in back alleys. You see…it's not so bad for men to be with drag queens. That's almost acceptable…as long as you aren't the submissive one. So Angel hoped…hoped that one of them would love him. And it seems…like all he got was AIDS," She said with an anger in her voice. Then she studied Collins face and asked, "Are you…"

"Yes. I'm positive too…" Collins answered as the wheels in his head turned and processed this new information about Angel. It made sense. Too much sense…he really did wish that Angel could have had a similar life as his. Suburbia. In the closet but not fearing for your life or health.

"Thank God he got what he needed…" Celia said throwing the napkin into the sink. "Thank you for telling us this…it's horrible to know but…it's good to know…he died happy."

"He did…he died in my arms," Collins murmured getting up from the table. "I…I have to head back to New York." He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't have everything that was the love of his life right there before him. If he did he would break over and over again. Just like he had all those weeks before. And he had to move on now. Get on with living because that's what Angel wanted. She wanted him to keep teaching and keep living and loving. But he assured her that he would never love again. He couldn't. Staying in that house hearing Angel's voice in a different octave, from a different face…he couldn't move on from that.

Celia stood up quickly and took his hand. "I'm sorry. This can't be easy for you…"

"It's not…but he wanted you to know…so in a way it was the only thing to do. But now I have to…gotta find a way to keep going," Collins muttered pulling his hand away from hers hesitantly.

"I understand…" Celia said folding her hands. "Wait!" She called out suddenly. "I have something for you…" The woman disappeared through the lobby leaving Collins alone in the kitchen. He glanced over at the lemonade waiting for Angel's father. Maybe I should wait…Collins said to himself. But then he shook his head. If Angel's female relatives reminded him so of Angel…his father would be even worse.

Celia appeared a moment later, her hands holding something tiny in her hands. "He left it to me. When he left for New York."

"Oh I couldn't…" Collins started to say.

"No…no I think…I think he would want you to have it," Celia murmured taking Collins, hand and placing the trinket in it.

He looked down and gasped, "Where did he…what is this?"

Celia grinned trying to hold back more tears. "Angel bought it. When he was…sixteen. Right before he left. He was always a romantic. He went into a pawn shop and…he said he would use it in the future. That it was too beautiful to pass by… I never understand why he left it with me. Now I think I know why. He wanted me to give it to you. When his love came along."

Collins slipped the gold band around his ring finger. It fit perfectly.

When he returned to New York City months later no one asked where he had been. And no one asked the significance of the ring that he never took off.


End file.
